


Day 3: Other Worlds

by MADR1D1SMO



Series: Cressi Week 2017 [3]
Category: Football RPF
Genre: Gen, Parallel Universes, alternative universe, cressiweek2k17
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-03
Updated: 2017-10-03
Packaged: 2019-01-08 14:13:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,341
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12256011
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MADR1D1SMO/pseuds/MADR1D1SMO
Summary: There’s a world where Cris plays for Madrid and Leo for Barça, the one we all know and love. There’s also another world, where CR7 and D10S are the deadliest duo in football history playing for the best club in the world. What happens if one day, the two of them switch places?





	Day 3: Other Worlds

**Author's Note:**

> I was originally gonna have only one of them switch places, but then I remembered that prompt_fills already did something similar in her flawless cris/leo universe swap fic (https://archiveofourown.org/works/5735500) so I decided to go for something else //btw if you haven't read it yet you really should!

 

_ “Together we can do what we could never do alone.” _

_ “Alone we are strong… together we are stronger.” _

 

Cristiano is trying to concentrate.

Keyword - trying. He isn’t very successful. Sergio is talking loudly, attempting to create some last-minute tactics; Isco is ranting about how it can’t be possibly legal to make them play in such weather; Gareth’s eyes are filled with nostalgia as he tells Toni how the last time he’s seen a sky so grey was in Wales. Not the best circumstances if you want to concentrate before an important Clásico match, now, are they?

“Okay, Cris, how about this!” Sergio exclaims, turning to him. “I just got a badass idea, listen,” Cristiano wants to tell him that if he keeps yelling like that their tactics would be absolutely useless because Barcelona could definitely hear them, but keeps his mouth shut. Luckily, Marcelo is there to save him.

“What are you, a captain or not a captain?” He says accusingly “Then go ahead to your place at the head of the row and leave Cris alone.” He grabs Sergio’s shoulders and ushers him to the end of the tunnel, where everybody is already lining up for the match.

Cristiano exhales slowly and presses one finger to each of his temples. There’s already an itch in his knee and something, deep between his instinct and his experience, is telling him that this is not going to be an easy match.

“It’s gonna be a tough match, huh?” Luka says quietly, voicing his thoughts. Cristiano opens his eyes and looks at him. “It’s going to be slippy. There will definitely be rain, I can feel it.” The midfielder whispers, the words more of a fact than a hypothesis, like something not up for debate. Knowing Luka, it probably isn’t.

“Yeah, huh?” Cristiano raises a hand and the other man grabs it, pulling him up. “Come on, let’s go join the others.”

 

It does rain, just like he predicted. It starts twenty minutes into the game; not hard enough to stop the match, but hard enough to make it difficult for everybody. The first half goes by practically scoreless. Each side is growing annoyed with each second that passes by, not wanting to put scoring off for the second half, so when Barcelona get a corner kick in the very last minute of additional time the tension is so palpable it could be sliced with a knife.

Cristiano jogs over closer to the net. He’s not a defender but he’s rather tall, might as well make some use out of it. Neymar delivers the ball and good god, he does it well. It’s smooth and fast, just high enough to not hit any defenders, but just low enough for one of his teammates to easily put it in.

Cristiano waits for it to get closer and jumps. He realises too late that Messi was standing just next to him, and that he jumped too.

They collide in the air, heads hitting each other. Everything seems to stop for a split second, and then there’s a sharp pain bolting through his forehead and he feels his side hit the dirty, wet grass.

Cristiano reaches his hands to cover his face and rolls over to his back. “Fuck..” Everything hurts, the world is spinning around him. He can vaguely make out the gasps of the stadium and their teammates’ scared yells, but it’s all blurred.

Something hot and wet slips out of his forehead and rolls down the side of his face. The grey of the sky and the green of the grass mix together until everything is plain black. Cristiano closes his eyes and lets the darkness take him.

 

-

 

Leo wakes up with a jolt, panting heavily and heart beating frantically. He raises his head, eyes darting around in panic, trying to figure out where he is and what happened. He’s in a room the outlines of which he vaguely recognises, but everything seems off. Like in a dream, when you feel like you should be familiar with something, feel that it’s not foreign, but for the love of god can’t recall what or who it is.

“Thank god you’re awake.”

Leo’s breath hitches and he turns around with a start, eyes searching for the owner of the voice.

Ronaldo is standing a few meters away from him, leaning against a locker. His stance appears to be relaxed at first glance, but it’s clear from the twist of his lips and the tension in his shoulders that he’s just as lost as Leo is. “I started thinking you died,” he jokes dryly, but it doesn’t come out as very humorous.

Leo presses his lips together. Now that he thinks about it, the last thing he can recall is colliding with Ronaldo during El Clásico. Leo’s hand automatically goes up to feel his forehead, but he doesn’t find any sign of injury.

All of a sudden, he realises that he’s still sitting on the floor while the other is standing, so he pushes himself up to his feet, surprised to find out that his head isn’t hurting from the movement. “Where are we?” He asks, partly because he’s actually wondering that, partly to fill the uneasy silence between them.

“I don’t..” Ronaldo stretches his hands out, waving them around the place “I don’t fucking know, okay?”

Leo looks around, paying more attention to details this time. It’s a dressing room, this one is clear. He can even recognise some of the names, he realises with a jolt of surprise; but it all seems off. The colours are off, the badge. He can see Geri’s name on one of the lockers, just next to Ramos’. Leo blinks and shakes his head, hoping it will go away. It doesn’t.

“What are you wearing?”

Leo’s gaze snaps back to Ronaldo. He wants to argue that this  _ isn’t _ the right time to worry about such things, but then he looks down and lets out a small “oh”.

It’s a football kit, but it’s not Barcelona’s. Neither it is Argentina’s, or Madrid’s, or Spain’s. Actually, Leo doesn’t think he has ever seen one like this before.

The base is plain white, with thin red-and-blue stripes over some of the places. There’s a small star on the badge and he can make out three letters: M, C and B.

Leo lifts his eyes hesitantly, as if afraid of what he might discover. “We’re wearing the same kit,” he realises with a start.

Ronaldo’s eyes grow wide. He looks down at himself and stares at the colourful material, gaping.

“This is a joke.”

Leo tries to look around, searching for clues. “What  _ is _ this place?”

Ronaldo lets out a laugh that is bordering on panic. “That’s it, I’ve gone completely crazy.” he exclaims dramatically, shaking his head.

They both freeze at the sound of loud chatter and laughter. The sound grows closer until the doors open and a group bursts inside. Leo freezes at the sight of them, and he call feel how tense Ronaldo is beside him as well.

“Here they are!” Ramos exclaims cheerfully and turns around to yell into the hallway “Guys, come here, I found them!”

He’s soon joined by Geri and Cesc. Leo stares. Ronaldo stares too. They’re all wearing the same red-and-blue over white kit, and they look like nothing is wrong, like all of this is completely normal. Leo wants to scream.

“Hello? Earth to Cris and Leo?” Leo blinks and snaps his attention back to reality when Geri snaps his fingers forcefully. “You coming or what? The second half’s starting.”

All three of them are out of the room as suddenly as they stormed into it, laughing and hugging each other, leaving him and Ronaldo absolutely lost and confused.

Ronaldo lets out a weak laugh. It’s not a humorous one; it’s the maniacal kind of panicked laughter.

“That’s it, I’ve finally gone mad. This is not happening.” He walks over toward the door, hands crossed behind his head and turns around to face Leo. “I’m hallucinating, aren’t I?” Leo doesn’t reply. His head is spinning a hundred rounds per second, he feels sick. “Might as well just roll along with it,” Ronaldo mutters - Leo isn’t sure who he’s addressing, but when the other forward goes out of the room and wobbles toward the tunnel, Leo lets his own legs follow their instincts and drags himself in the same direction.

 

The stadium is loud and ecstatic when they walk outside, into the pitch. It’s better - Leo knows this, he knows football, football makes it easier to breathe again - but it’s also worse because he can’t possibly hide like this, he can feel everybody’s eyes on him and while he’s long since used to it, it all feels too much all of a sudden. Leo needs a break, he needs to sit down and calm down, instead he’s immediately pushed into the centre of a huge event he has no knowledge or understanding of.

He can recognise the language - it’s Spanish, so they’re still in Spain - but he can’t, for the love of god, recognise who any of the two clubs on the pitch are. He can see Andrés in the midfield, wearing the captain's armband. He should be comforted by it, really, but nobody expect him seems to realise that everything is wrong, so instead of comforting Andrés and Geri’s presence do nothing but scare him even more.

Ironically, the only person in the stadium who seems to share his sentiment is Ronaldo. Their eyes cross for a split second and the other widens his eyes at him, shakes his head and mouthes “what the fuck”. The words are phrased in Portuguese, but Leo has hung out with Dani and Neymar enough to recognise them.

“Leo!”

Leo turns around just in time to receive a pass from Isco. Internally, his mind is flashing red lights.  _ Isco _ . Madrid’s Isco, for crying out loud!

But then the instincts kick in and he’s running toward the goal, the ball firmly between his feet.

Ronaldo springs into action just a second after him, running forward, closer and closer to the net with every step. He raises a hand, waving at Leo.

“Over here!”

Without much thought, Leo sends the ball flying in his direction.

They both watch it bounce out of the pitch.

Ronaldo swirls around to glare at him. “What  _ was  _ that?”

“I delivered it into the box, you were supposed to go there!” Leo exclaims, surprised at himself for losing temper so quickly. It was a perfect - _ potential _ \- assist, Ronaldo had to be  _ purposefully  _ not looking at what he was doing to not see it.

“You just kicked it out of the pitch, how was I supposed to score with that?” Ronaldo retorts, spreading his arms out dramatically.

Leo opens his mouth to object with something particularly rude, but fortunately he doesn’t get to find out what he’s capable of because Marcelo jogs over to them, laughing warmly. “Woah there, guys, calm down,” he says with a smile “We just started, you have plenty of time.” He ruffles Leo’s hair playfully, like they do it all the time, just like that, and runs over to Geri, yelling him something about sticking to the left wing.

Ronaldo scoffs and turns away from Leo. Leo glares at him until the game starts again.

They get another chance mere minutes later. Marcelo intercepts the ball from the rival and passes to Cesc, who passes to Andrés, who delivers the ball perfectly to Leo’s feet.

Leo dribbles past one of the rival defenders, causing loud cheers from the crowd around them, and sprints toward the penalty box. He’s so close, yet too far, the angle is rather risky; and then Ronaldo is there, right next to the net, gesturing at him to pass the ball.

Leo changes the direction abruptly, causing the defender guarding him to fall down, and shoots the ball all the way over to Ronaldo.

It’s really not funny when they watch the ball roll out of the sidelines for the second time in less than ten minutes.

When Ronaldo turns around to face him, there’s too much unjustified anger glimmering in his eyes. “You call  _ that  _ a pass?”

Leo feels his face getting hotter; not from embarrassment. “I can’t just magically transfer the ball to your feet when you’re all over the place!” He exclaims angrily, voice on the verge of yelling. “Learn to score first!”

Ronaldo’s lips press into a thin line and he raises a hand, pointing an accusing finger in Leo’s direction. “You-”

“Now, now, what’s up with you two today?”

The red lights in Leo’s head grow stronger, now joined by loud sirens, when he sees Dani ( _ their  _ Dani, Dani Alves) coming over to Ronaldo. He places a hand on his shoulder amicably and Leo feels his mouth involuntary drop open. Ronaldo gapes.

“Tone it down, will you?” Dani says with a laugh, ignoring the inappropriate staring both of them are performing “Tranquila, takes it easy.” He winks at Leo, then grins at Ronaldo and throws him a couple of words in Portuguese Leo can’t quite make out.

When he leaves, both of them are too shocked to remember what they were arguing about.

“Did I die and go to some kind of Culé hell?” Ronaldo mutters under his breath.

“Are you joking?” Leo shoots him a glance. “About half this team is Madridistas.”

Ronaldo shakes his head in disbelief and exhales loudly. “Fine,” he raises a hand up to his face and covers his mouth to hide their words from the cameras - Leo hurries to do the same. “Alves is right, we should really get our shit together.”

Leo nods. At least this they can agree on. “Any particular ideas?”

Ronaldo looks thoughtful for a moment. “How about you try to pass from a more-”   
“Wait a second,” Leo cuts him off, feeling uncharacteristically indignant all of a sudden. “Why am  _ I  _ supposed to be the one who assists? Last time I checked I’m as much of a forward as you are,” he has no idea where all of this cockiness came from, but it’s hard to seem arrogant when you’re talking to Cristiano Ronaldo, so he lets himself go and lets his mouth run freely, no filters.

Ronaldo raises an eyebrow casually. “Oh, didn’t you hear the stats? You have like, twice as many assists as I do,” he throws carelessly “Because I’m a selfish prick that doesn’t share or something. It’s the first thing every Messi fan in the world brings up in an argument.”

Leo stares at him in disbelief. “And to think that you started off as a midfielder..” He mutters to himself.

Ronaldo seems to take it as a challenge “Oh, don’t you worry pal, I can do midfield alright.”

They would probably keep bickering for even longer than that if the rival goalkeeper didn’t yell at them to get back to their positions.

They get yet another chance ten minutes later. Cesc passes to Ronaldo with a ridiculously practised accuracy, and the next second they’re both running in the direction of the rival net.

Ronaldo passes to him when a defender gets in his way; Leo catches it and passes back to Ronaldo. Leo is a few meters away from the goal when he gets the assist: Ronaldo stops, flips the ball around the defender, pulls his foot back, shoots - and the next second Leo’s foot connects with the ball and sends it into the net.

The crowd erupts into yells and Leo throws his head back, eyes closed in a joyful  _ finally- _

-a _ finally _ which doesn’t last long, cut short almost immediately by the whistle of the ref.

“Offside!”

Leo turns around, eyes wide. The only person in the stadium who possibly looks more furious than him right now is Ronaldo.

“Inside!” Ronaldo exclaims insistently, like it’s his own goal they’re talking about “That was  _ inside _ , we  _ scored _ !”

It’s not up to debate for too long because soon the screen shows a replay of the moment and they can all clearly see that it was, indeed, a very obvious offside.

“You were offside!” Ronaldo swirls around, throwing the accusation at Leo angrily.

“ _ I  _ was offside?” Leo echoes. He almost laughs, that’s how absurd the claim is “ _ You _ were offside, the guy was like twenty feet behind you when you got the pass!”

“Bullshit!” Ronaldo stomps his foot against the grass, a completely childish action that makes the blood in Leo’s veins boil even more than it already does “You know I’m right!”

“You’re-” Leo throws his arms up and breathes out a laugh “You’re  _ unbelievable. _ ” he means it in the worst of ways.

 

The game is a disaster. No matter what he and Ronaldo do, they can’t score. There’s no chemistry, their connection is broken- no, it’s basically non-existent. They don’t lose only thanks to a last-minute goal scored by Ramos. While everyone else is busy celebrating, Leo closes his eyes and mutters a sentence he would never think to hear from his own mouth: “Thank god for Sergio Ramos.”

He watches Geri pull Ramos into a tight hug and press a kiss to his cheek and it all feels so  _ wrong _ , so Leo quickly looks away before he can start thinking about how nice it all actually is.

 

_ Of course _ they get asked about it as soon as the final whistle blows. Leo wants to kick himself for not thinking of something to say earlier.

He stares at the mic in front of him dumbly; he realises he’s supposed to say something, anything, that the public is expecting some kind of reaction, but his mind is absolutely blank and very, very tired.

He’s  _ almost  _ starting to panic when suddenly he feels a strong arm wrap around his shoulder and pull him closer. Ronaldo flashes a wide, mastered smile to the camera, the kind that would charm anything and anybody.

“Oh, we’ll have to ask you to forgive us for this one,” he speaks easily “Me and Leo over here are having a bit of an off day.” he gives Leo’s shoulder a light squeeze, laughs, and the journalist and the cameraman laugh with him. It’s infectious, Leo thinks, and very comforting - the laughter, the smiles, the physical contact. Too bad it’s all fake to the core.

Ronaldo gets asked about whether they’re having any personal problems the club is unaware of - Ronaldo talks about the missed chances, about bad luck and emotions taking the best of you when things start going wrong - but never actually answers the question. Soon the reporters are forced to let them go, running out of allowed time.

The moment they’re inside the tunnel Ronaldo drops his arm, the smile gone from his face. “Jesus christ, Messi.” He mutters.

 

Their troubles aren’t done there.

Once they’re in the dressing room and Leo thinks that finally,  _ finally  _ he’ll be given some rest, they’re both approached by Andrés and Ramos, both of them wearing somewhat concerned expressions on their faces.

“Look,” Andrés begins, confidently and hesitantly at once “I don’t know what was that right now but.. It can’t go on like that.” he glances at Ramos and the other gives a nod in confirmation “Whether it was really an ‘off-day’, like you said, or not, you need to get back on track before the match against Hapoel.”

“Yeah, Capi is right,” Ramos puts in, arms crossed and a light frown on his face “Neymar, James and Dybala won’t go easy on us just because you’re having an  _ off-day _ ,”

It takes everything in Leo to not let his mouth drop open again at the mention of the names. He exchanges glances with Ronaldo, who looks just as bewildered as him.

Andrés and Ramos seem to interpret their looks the wrong way.

“Yeah, exactly.” Ramos nods “But hey,” he slaps Leo’s shoulder amicably “don’t go hard on yourself, eh? Get some rest, maybe you both are just tired.”

Andrés smiles warmly and gives a pat to Ronaldo’s shoulder. “Exactly. Don’t overwork yourself.” He glances at Ramos and the two seem to be having some kind of silent conversation for a while, until he turns back to them and says. “We’ll leave you two now to talk it out. Take care.”

The door closes behind them and Leo realises with a start that he and Ronaldo are alone in the room again.

Leo keeps his head down, looking at his boots. There’s a lot going on in his mind right now, he needs time to sort it out, get it all back in order. He can’t function emotionally when he’s this drained.

He can feel Ronaldo’s presence on the bench next to him; arms crossed, foot tapping the floor impatiently. He’s glaring.

“Well?”

Leo squeezes his eyes shut, begging god for patience. “Well what?”

Ronaldo scoffs “Well  _ this _ .” he says pointedly, throwing a hand to gesture at their surrounding. “Well, I have no idea what’s happening. Well, we simply can’t play on the same side of the pitch. Well, if this is where we are now then we’re absolutely fucked.” his voice is loud and full of emotions, the absolute least thing Leo needs right now “Well, all of this!”

Leo sighs tiredly and turns to look at him “What do you want from me?”

Ronaldo looks at him like he somehow personally offended him “I don’t know!” he exclaims, voice growing louder, using his hands where words are not enough “Say something!” he makes a pause, probably waiting for a response, but Leo just keeps looking at him dryly.

Ronaldo breathes out a laugh, bites his lip, looks away. “God,” he mutters, shaking his head “Why am I bothering at all.. You don’t care!”

Leo’s hand clenches into a fist. He can feel the anger boiling inside him; it’s always the same accusation thrown at him, from rival fans to Maradona, and hearing Ronaldo of all people say that, Ronaldo who should  _ get it _ , makes him absolutely furious.

“Just because I’m not yelling and throwing tantrums like a moody seven years old doesn’t mean I don’t care,” he snaps.

Ronaldo stares at him.

“Fine,” he says coldly, expression unreadable. “Fine,” he repeats, getting up to his feet. “Fine,” he says once again, grabbing his duffel bag and heading toward the exit. “Have fun caring in silence then!”

Just before he’s out of the door he turns around, shooting one more glare in Leo’s direction “Go talk to the wall or something, you two will make a great pair.” And then the door is shut with an unnecessarily loud bang.

Leo exhales shakily and buries his face in his hands. What has he gotten himself into?

“What an absolute dick.”

 

Leo takes his time. He searches his locker, finding a bag with all of his belongings, a phone with most of the needed contacts and the keys to his car. He walks out of the stadium into the parking lot, eyes running around the large space, searching for his black Jeep. It’s not there.

Leo doesn’t really have any other options so he just presses the unlock button on the keys and looks around, waiting to see what car will react.

The last thing he expected is the large, shiny, red sports car a few feet away from him to flash its lights and make a beeping noise. Leo jumps and stares at it, gaping.

It doesn’t look like anything he would ever own, not in a million years, not in a million other worlds. If anything, the entire vehicle just screams  _ Cristiano Ronaldo _ .

He isn’t wrong. When Leo opens the door and gets inside, it’s very clear who the owner of the car is. Weirdly enough, he can recognise some of his own belongings there, as well.

The brown mate cup next to a large Starbucks one is clearly his. So are the Albiceleste-themed headphones lying carelessly in the back seat.  _ Are we carpooling _ , an incredulous voice asks in his head.

What really makes him freeze in place though, is a small, framed picture standing just between a set of keys and a pack of sticky notes. It’s them - but at the same time it’s not. There’s a large, silver cup in their hands that Leo recognises as the Champions League trophy. They’re both smiling, pure bliss and happiness written over their faces. Ronaldo has an arm wrapped around his shoulders, holding him in a tight embrace. He can make out other people in the background - Geri and Ramos are lying not far away from them on the grass, Marcelo and Dani are laughing, yelling something to the fans. Something in Leo’s stomach twists.

It’s just then that his phone rings. Leo pulls it out of his bag and glances at the screen. It takes him a moment to realise that  _ Cris _ means Ronaldo.

He presses the phone to his ear, a bit hesitant. “Yes?” A part of him is expecting to hear another bitter argument that Ronaldo’s forgotten to use in their earlier conversation, the other would really like to hear an apology. Both surprisingly and not, it’s neither of that.

There’s a long silence on the other end of the line, to the point that Leo thinks it was a mistake.

Then he can hear Ronaldo exhale and he blurts out, “I’m lost.”

Leo blinks. “You’re what?”

Instead of repeating himself, the other forward groans in frustration “What the fuck even is this place? It’s Spain but it’s not Madrid - neither it is Barcelona!”

Leo frowns and looks out of the window. Now that he mentioned it, he doesn’t recognise anything at all. “Yeah, um.” he bites his lip. “Hey, can you find your way back to the parking lot?” he asks, averting his eyes back to the empty parking lot around him “I think I found your car.”

There’s another long silence. Then, “What car?”

“Eh,” Leo is taken aback by the question. How is he supposed to reply to this? “You know, a red shiny sports car. Huge wheels, smooth-”

“No, no,” Ronaldo cuts him off “I meant - what brand?”

The rephrased question isn’t any easier for Leo than the previous one “Uh, I know?” he looks around, searching for some kind of sign “Well,” he leans closer to the steering wheel, inspecting the logo on it “The logo on the wheel says Bu..” he frowns “Bugatti?”

He’s wondering if it’s just a product of his imagination when he hears Ronaldo’s breathing hitch. “Stay there, I’m coming,” he orders “Please don’t touch anything.”

Leo pulls the phone away from his ear and stares at it. Okay then.

 

-

 

Cristiano tears his eyes away from his phone only when he reaches the parking. He looks up and scans the area, searching for the “red shiny sports car” Messi described. He can feel a satisfied smile spread across his face when he catches sight of the flamboyant car. Of course it’s his. It’s nice to know that at least this world’s he still has a sense of style.

He opens the door and gets inside the car with a swift motion. A Bugatti. Fucking perfect.

“Uh,” his eyes snap to Messi, who’s sitting in the driver’s seat next to him “Do you want me to..?” the other trails off, pointing at his seat.

“Ah, no,” Cristiano waves a hand dismissively “You can drive.” the thought  _ can Messi even drive _ flashes through his mind for a second, but he throws it away. If he doesn’t, he’ll tell him.

Messi reaches for the belt, fastening it across his chest, and Cristiano hurries to do the same. He buckles the belt and redirects his attention back to the text in his phone. He can’t wait to tell Messi about what he found out.

“Did you know-” Cristiano turns to look at him but freezes when his eyes fall on a small, framed picture. Holy shit.

“Is that, uh,” he glances at Messi, then at the picture, and then at Messi again “Us?”

“Um,” Messi’s eyes do the same, looking slightly uncomfortable “uh, yeah, I think so?”

“Uh-huh,” Cristiano nods slowly and Messi repeats his action again. Go figure. “Do you mind if I. Um,” Cristiano makes a vague gesture with his hand, hoping that Messi will understand.

The other forward nods quickly “Please do.”

Cristiano reaches for the photo and flips it down so they can’t actually see anything but the blank back of the frame. There’s a mutual feeling of relief in the air.

Messi puts the car into motion and starts driving. This could be worse, Cristiano finds himself thinking, he could be stuck with Piqué, who would just crush his car into a fucking tree. At least Messi is a careful driver.

“Okay, so,” Cristiano leans back against the seat comfortably, eyes glued to the screen of his phone “I did some research. Apparently we play for a club called Maccabi - that’s what the MCB on the kit stands for, by the way. And the chants we heard - Olé olé Maccabi,”

Messi gives him a hum of acknowledgement and Cristiano goes on “We  _ are _ in Spain, but this is - guess what? You’ll never guess.” Cristiano lets out an amused huff “Valencia! And we’re supposed to be the best club in the world or something.”

“Oh, really?”

“Yeah,” Cristiano shakes his head in disbelief, eyes still on the phone. What a joke. “We’re the main two stars - deadliest attacking duo in football history and all. Our main opponents in Spain are Hapoel - the one where Neymar, Dybala and James play,” he adds.

“You don’t say.”

“Uh, huh,” Cristiano gives an affirmative nod “And we also have Ozil on our team, by the way, he just was injured today.”

“How interesting.”

Cristiano narrows his eyes. All of a sudden, he catches up on the sarcasm in Messi’s voice, wondering if it was there from the very beginning and how in the world he could miss it.

He finally turns to look at Messi. His face lacks any particular expression, eyes fixed on the road. Cristiano squint at him. “What’s the deal with you?”

Messi huffs in amusement “What’s the deal with  _ me _ ?”

Cristiano stares at him some more. He’s always been good at reading people, but it’s hard to make anything out of Messi’s expressionless features. He’s hard enough to read on normal occasions, not to mention when he’s… Like  _ this _ . Purposefully emotionless.

Cristiano clicks his tongue and rolls his eyes. He sags against the seat, putting his phone aside, and throws his right hand up in frustration “I’m  _ sorry _ for yelling, okay?” considering the fact that he’s yelling - again - right now, it’s probably hardly believable, but he really doesn’t need Messi to think that he’s some kind of asshole just because their first real interaction happened to be in a situation that brings out the worst in him “I tend to get emotional when games go wrong. I care about results a lot.”

Messi snorts “No shit,” he replies wryly.

“Oh, come on,” Cristiano crosses his arms over his chest with a pointed look “This is hard, and you aren’t exactly making the situation any easier for me, you know,”

Messi’s grip on the steering wheel tightens but he keeps looking forward, eyes on the road “I care just as much,” he responds, carefully measuring the words coming out of his mouth, unlike Cristiano “I just.. I’m the opposite. When things go wrong I just kind of.. Shut down.” he explains, a frown growing between his eyebrows “I’m sorry if I’m hard to deal with like this, but.. I can’t really do anything about it.”

Cristiano bites his lip. He doesn’t really know what to do with it - he wasn’t actually expecting an apology. If anything, he’s the one who should apologise, and now, compared to Messi’s, the explanation he gave earlier seems really lame. “It’s… Okay.” he drawls awkwardly “Thanks for bearing with me.”

Messi lets out a shaky sigh. He’s clearly just as shaken up from the sudden events as him, now that Cristiano looks he can see it. It must be harder, though - when he keeps all of his emotions bottled up like this. But then again, everybody has their own ways of dealing with things.

“Back to the matter at hand,” Messi says, schooling his expression back into a neutral one “You’re right. You’re a fantastic player, but.. We just have no chemistry. I don’t think we can make it work.”

“Well,” Cristiano can feel the smirk back on his lips. He raises his phone in the air, waving it slightly from side to side “Apparently we do.”

Messi frowns and throws a glance at the rear mirror, giving Cristiano a confused look “What?”

Cristiano makes a motion with his head to the side of the road “Pull over,”

Messi gives him a strange look.

“Pull over, come on, pull over.”

Messi tilts the steering wheel and brings the car into a halt on the sideroad. He turns around to face him and Cristiano holds his phone in the middle, between them, so both of them can see the video playing on the screen.

“These are some of the best highlights from our last season.”

Cristiano’s eyes are on Messi as the video starts playing. He’s already watched it (actually, he gaped at the screen shamelessly the entire time when he first clicked on it) and getting to see Messi’s reaction is an opportunity to not be missed. The Argentine looks like he was hit with a frying pan, eyes glued to the screen of Cristiano’s phone.

“Wait for the free kick,” Cristiano says “You’re not gonna believe it.”

The scene switches to a different match. The Ronaldo and Messi on the screen are standing next to each other, discussing something rapidly. A moment later they part, Ronaldo walks over to the ball and Messi goes to stand a few feet away from the wall of rival players.

At first it looks like Ronaldo goes for one of his classic knuckleball shots, but then the angle of his foot changes at the very last second and instead of going inside the net, the ball hits the crossbar. It ricochets off the crossbar with an unreal accuracy and flies in Messi’s direction; Messi, who jumps just in time to hit the ball, sending it past the goalie’s hands into the net.

The crowd is yelling; and so are the commentators, who can’t stop showering them with praise, speaking of how unreal and crazy the connection between the two forwards is. On the screen, Messi runs toward him and jumps, Cristiano catching him easily as they both laugh, celebrating the goal. It all looks so natural.

The real Messi, the one sitting next to him, places his hands on the sides of his head and leans back in his seat “I did  _ not _ just watch this,” he says, shaking his head.

“Oh, you did,” Cristiano assures him, pulling his phone away “And this is just the tip of the iceberg,” he adds meaningfully. The goal they just watched right now is just one of the many iconic tricks and moves they seem to have, and Cristiano has barely seen anything yet.

Messi still looks a bit shaken from what he just witnessed. Cristiano can’t blame him, he had more or less the same reaction.

“Can I..?” Messi gestures at the phone and gives Cristiano a questioning look.

“Yeah, sure,” Cristiano hands him with phone “Want me to drive while you..?”

“Yeah, thanks,”

They both get out of their seats and switch sides. Messi settles down in the passenger seat, watching the clips thoroughly. Cristiano turns on his GPS, picks the location named “home” and starts driving. Occasionally, when they’re stuck at a red light or waiting for a turn, Messi pulls on his sleeve and shows him specific parts of the videos. Their connection is actually so good it’s kind of scary.

 

“Oh, won’t you look at this,” Cristiano scoffs when they near the destination “We’re neighbours. Who could’ve thought.”

Messi pulls the earphone out of his ear and looks up “Oh. Seriously?”

“Yeah,” Cristiano drawls. He stops the car before the gate of his house, leaning out of the window to type in the code. He types in the one he uses for his house back in their world and - yes, it works. That's a relief. “This is my place,” he continues, leading the car inside “and over there, if you look closer, is yours.”

Messi glances out of the window. His house, indeed, can be seen just over the fence.

Cristiano parks the car outside of the garage, on the pathway, and opens his door, getting out. Messi does the same.

“So we’re basically like me and Luis in our world.”

Cristiano looks at him. It makes sense, in a way, but something about the statement really doesn’t sit well with him “I don’t like the implication that I’m Suárez.”

Messi grins at him teasingly “Yeah, me neither. Luis would be offended if he knew I compared him to you.”

Cristiano groans “Ha ha,” he lets out sarcastically.

The first thing Cristiano does when they enter the house is check the kitchen. He almost kisses the shelves when upon opening the fridge he finds a set of boxes with home-cooked food, ready to be heated up and served. When he thinks about, they both haven’t eaten anything since the morning.

“You hungry?”

“Uh. Yes?” Messi’s voice comes from one of the other rooms.

Cristiano frowns, puzzled “Was that a yes or a no?”

“Depends on what your idea of food is!”

Cristiano lets out a laugh under his breath. God, Messi probably thinks he eats nothing but salad all day.

He pulls out a box of pasta with tuna, olives and other vegetables and another one with cabbage wraps. At least he knows that he can still cook in this world.

After arranging the food on two separate plates, Cristiano picks them up and heads back to the hall to search for Messi. He finds him in the living room, looking around the house.

“Okay,” Cristiano says “So I didn’t know if you have any allergies but I got us some pasta with vegetables and cabbage wraps, but if you don’t like cabbage you can just go into the kitchen and pick yourself some-”

“Have you seen this?”

Cristiano stops. Messi is standing in front of a large set of shelves, attention fixated on something on them. Cristiano wants to retort that there can’t be anything more important than food right now, but his curiosity takes over.

“Have I seen what?” he places the plates down on a small table by the couch and approaches Messi, trying to figure out what caught his attention. It’s not such a hard task “Oh.”

The two middle shelves are filled with trophies and awards. In the centre, there are four tiny, round, golden objects they both know way too well. But that’s not unusual, it’s not what makes the sight captivating. The detail holding their attention is just one shelf above the awards; there are no trophies on it - instead, it’s filled with framed photos. Of them.

There’s one where Cristiano is holding the trophy, grinning cheekily at the camera, and Messi is right next to him, smiling in a way that makes it hard to tell which one of the two of them it is that won the award.

There’s a similar one next to it, from a different ceremony, where Messi is holding the trophy. Cristiano, who’s standing by his side, has an arm wrapped around his shoulders tightly.

The third one is the most mindblowing one. Cristiano is whispering something in Messi’s ear and they’re both laughing; the award in their hands has “Best Attacking Duo 2016-17” written on it with large, capital letters.

The atmosphere of the pictures is really different from when they’re forced to pose next to each other after a ceremony. It all feels completely genuine and they both look honest to god blissfully happy. Cristiano’s mouth feels dry.

They’re both at a loss of words.

“Well,” Cristiano manages weakly, trying to break the silence “That’s kinda..”

“Nice.” Messi says quietly.

“Disturbing.” Cristiano blurts out at the same time.

They exchange glances.

“No, I mean,” Cristiano makes a vague gesture in the direction of the shelves “You’re right, it is.. Kinda nice.”

“But disturbing,” Messi nods “Nice but disturbing.”

There’s another silence in which Cristiano desperately tries to come up with something to say. He sends a last glance at the pictures of him and Messi and then asks “So.. Should we eat?”

Messi nods eagerly “Yes please,”

They don’t go to the dining room; instead, they sit down on the large couch, facing the tv, and Cristiano grabs the remote, going through the list of recorded matches he has.

“Okay,” he says, eyes scanning the list “Sergio and Iniesta said we’re playing - what, Hapoel? So how about we watch our matches against them from last season?”

Messi nods “Yeah, exactly, we should-” the words come out muffled from the food in his mouth and he raises a hand, covering his mouth. Not the best idea.

Cristiano snorts “Careful, Messi. Don't talk while eating, you’ll send pasta up your nose.”

Messi shoots him a glare. He swallows it down and speaks up again “Okay, anyway,” he clears his throat and gestures at the tv screen “I was saying that we should probably watch some old matches before training tomorrow, to know what we’re doing.”

It’s entertaining. Cristiano is not going to lie - he does enjoy watching himself score from aside, making small comments about how amazing “that Cristiano guy” is, which always makes whoever is sitting next to him roll their eyes at him. This, however, this is a whole new level of mind-blowing.

Watching himself and Messi perform world class skills and techniques on the screen, ones he’s never seen from anybody ever before, is a completely unreal experience. Some of them - if Cristiano is being honest - he’s thought about before. But there are certain stunts and schemes that demand more than one player, and he’s never had - not to sound arrogant again - anybody on his level to try them out with.

“There’s no way we can pull that off,” Messi states decisively, pushing another mouthful of pasta and vegetables into his mouth.

The Messi on the screen flips the ball over his head, sending it high in the air. Cristiano jumps, performing a chilena, and the ball lands right at his feet and ricochets into the net.

“Jesus  _ fuck _ ,”

Cristiano shakes his head in disbelief.

Messi drops the empty plate down on the small table next to them and presses his hands to the sides of his head “I refuse to believe this is real.”

Cristiano huffs out a laugh “Don’t underestimate us.”

They look at each other, then back at the tv. On the screen, Messi runs over to Cristiano and jumps into his arms. They’re hugging, and laughing, and yelling, and Cristiano presses a kiss to Messi’s temple and whispers something into his ear, all the while smiling widely.

Cristiano’s hand reaches for the remote on instinct, turning it off. He realises what he’s done only when the screen turns black.

He turns to look at Messi, trying to find a logical explanation to his actions “I- This was just.. A bit..”

“I know,” Leo nods. The expression on his face is one of understanding. Nice but disturbing. Or maybe - disturbingly nice? “I  _ know _ .”

They hang out for a bit longer after that - Messi compliments his cooking skills, Cristiano gives him a lecture on the importance of a healthy lifestyle, Messi takes the compliment back and calls him a health nerd - until it starts getting darker.

They say their good-byes, Messi goes over to his own house and Cristiano takes a shower, changes into pajamas and gets into bed. He’s usually a very heavy sleeper, especially after match days, but that night his mind feels restless. He rolls over to his back, the events of the day swirling through his head, not letting him sleep. He’s just starting to fall asleep when his phone beeps by him. Cristiano picks it up and looks at the screen.

> **Leo:** you awake?

Cristiano frowns. What does Messi want from him in the middle of the night? He considers faking sleep but in the end finds himself typing back.

> **You:** nah. why?

> **Leo:** oh ok just checking

Cristiano blinks in puzzlement at the text.

“For real?” he asks aloud.

Before he can think it through, he hits the call button, letting his phone dial Messi’s number. He picks up on the second ring.

“What’s up, Messi?”

“Uh,” the other sounds confused, like it wasn’t him who texted him in the first place “Good? Thanks?”

Cristiano tries to fight the amused smile on his lips. It’s useless. “What,” he teases “thoughts of the best player in the world are keeping you up at night?” it’s way too cocky, he knows, and he’s risking having Messi just hang up on him altogether, but the night and the overall exhaustion make his actions bolder and his thoughts looser.

The response is instant and unwavering, that Cristiano has to give Messi credit for “Nah, I don’t stay up at night thinking about myself,” he says easily “I have some humility, unlike you.”

Cristiano chokes “I-” he shakes his head, an entertained smile on his lips. This is fun, he could go on with the banter for a long while. But the question is tugging at his tongue; the jokes can wait.

“No, but really,” he says “what’s up? Can’t sleep?”

“Yeah, I just,” he can hear Messi sigh “I don’t know. Yeah, can’t sleep. You?”

Cristiano shrugs, then realises the other can’t see him and says “I don’t know. A lot happened today, I guess I’m just.. Thinking it over.”

Messi hums into the phone “Yeah, me too,” he’s silent for a moment, but Cristiano can tell that he wants to say something, so he stays silent as well, giving him time to think it over “Did you.. Did you ever try to imagine what it would be like? Playing together? Before.. This happened?”

Cristiano takes a moment to think. There isn’t anything to think about, in fact. He did think about it, on the occasions he let his thoughts run free, it would be a lie to deny it. “Yeah,” he croaks “more than once.”

Messi exhales “It’s..” he lets out a small laugh “At first, when I realised what happened I was all, you know-”

“What did I do wrong in life to get stuck with this asshole?” Cristiano prompts.

Messi laughs “Yeah, something like that,” he admits “But now, when I think about it.. This.. could actually be very nice. In it’s own way.”

“And what if this is permanent?”

“Well.. I could get used to it.”

Cristiano finds himself smiling at the ceiling, against his own will “Yeah.. Me too.” he murmurs quietly. He never let his thoughts wander into this direction for too long, because he knew that he would simply be digging his own grave - it could never be possible - but now.. Yeah, he could get used to it.

“Hey, Cristiano?”

“Yeah?”

“Look out of the window.”

Cristiano frowns and sits up. He follows the other’s words, turning to look outside, and that’s when he sees it. The light in one of the rooms in the house across to his turns on, and Cristiano sees Leo sitting on his bed, phone pressed against his ear, waving at him through the window.

“I-” Cristiano laughs a nd waves back “I can’t believe this.” he almost forgot they are neighbours. It all still feels a bit like a dream.

Cristiano grabs a piece of paper from his nightstand and scribbles “go back to sleep” in messy, capital letters on it. He takes the note and presses it to the window. He can see Leo laugh, accompanied by the sound coming through the phone.

“Okay, okay, I’m going to sleep now.”

Cristiano grins at him “You should.”

They both fall asleep immediately after that.

 

-

 

“Rise and shine, sleeping beauty!”

The curtains are pulled away and Leo winces when the lights streaming from outside blind his vision.

“What the hell,” he grumbles, pulling the covers up to shelter his eyes.

“I said wake up, sleepy head,”

Leo forces himself to sit up, rubbing at his eyes. The only thing he wants to do right now is go back to sleep, really.

Somehow, he’s not surprised in the slightest when upon opening his eyes he sees Cristiano standing in the middle of his room. The other is already fully dressed, hair combed back, diamonds in his ears, fresh and ready to face the the world. Leo yawns.

“What time is it?”

“Half past five.”

“What?” Leo shrieks. They both went to sleep ridiculously late, it can’t possibly be this early “What in the world did you wake me up so early for?” he demands.

Cristiano waves his hand dismissively “I want to get to training before the others. Come on, get up!” he picks up Leo’s clothes from yesterday from where they’re still lying on a chair next to the bed, and throws them at him.

Leo mutters a few words under his breath in displeasure, but gets out of bed nonetheless “How did you even get in here?”

“Apparently I have a key,” Cristiano replies easily, already heading out of the room “Come on now, I’m waiting for you downstairs. Take a shower, I’m making breakfast.”

The moment he’s gone Leo collapses back on the bed.

A second later, Cristiano’s head appears in the doorway again “Do I have to repeat myself?”

Leo bolts up in bed “No!”

Cristiano squints at him “Good.”

God, if this is what his mornings will look like from now on, Leo would rather  _ die _ .

He takes his words back the moment he comes downstairs to the smell of heaven.

“Oh god, are these waffles?” he whispers, unable to believe his eyes. There are three perfectly shaped, brown waffles on his plate, covered with berries, pear slices and yogurt. Leo sits down, taking in the sight “But doesn’t it kinda contradict your healthy lifestyle thing?”

Cristiano sends him a glare “That’s some strong junk food propaganda over there,” he states accusingly, pointing a spatula in Leo’s direction “healthy dishes can be just as good as any of those disasters you dare call food,” he walks over to the table, admiring his own work “I made these using whole flour and agave syrup instead of sugar.”

Leo tunes out the rest. He really doesn’t care that much as long as it tastes good. And god, does it.

“Mmm,” he moans as soon as the first bite meets his tongue “This is so good.”

Cristiano watches him in amusement “Don’t they feed you properly in Barcelona?”

The stove dings, signaling that the next portion is ready, and Cristiano picks up the pan, dropping three waffles onto his own plate and another extra treat on Leo’s.

Cristiano finishes before him and glances at his clock “Okay, you should hurry up, we need to go,”

Leo swallows and replies “Yeah, I’m ready, let me just finish this and we can go.”

Cristiano stares at him “You..” he raises a hand, gesturing at Leo’s head “You’re not going to go out like this, are you?”

Leo blinks at him “No? I’m gonna put on my shoes first?” he tries. It’s the wrong answer. Cristiano looks like he’s having second doubts about everything he’s ever done in his life. Leo frowns “What’s wrong with it?”

Cristiano raises an eyebrow “Everything? Have you looked in a mirror?” he picks up his plate, drops it down in the sink and walks back to the table “Get up, where’s the bathroom?”

“No!” Leo’s grip on his fork tightens “I still need to finish the waffles,”

“Just take the bloody waffles with you,” Cristiano mutters in annoyance, grabbing Leo’s plate and heading upstairs. Leo has no choice but to follow.

Leo never thought he would ever find himself in the bathroom of his own house, sitting on the edge of the bathtub and eating waffles while Cristiano Ronaldo is going through his things and criticising his sense of style (or, according to Cristiano, the lack of it).

“Close your eyes,” he orders. The moment Leo does he sprays something on his hair and starts brushing the strands back.

“I can’t eat waffles with my eyes closed,” Leo complains.

“You’re Leo Messi, you can do anything.” Cristiano deadpans. Before Leo can protest, he pulls away and adds “Okay, you can open them now.”

Leo blinks his eyes open. His gaze falls on his own reflection in the mirror and “Oh,” he lets out “Wow.”

Cristiano grins, satisfied with his own work “I know.” he tilts his head to the side, looking thoughtful “Although…” his hand reaches for the hair clippers lying on the counter.

Leo’s eyes widen when he realises what Cristiano is about to do “Don’t you dare,” he warns “Don’t touch the beard.”

Cristiano’s entire face falls “But Leo,” he drawls out the name with a small pout. Leo almost gives in. Almost.

“No,” he says decisively.

Cristiano sighs, seeing that Leo is not going to give it up so easily “Alright, let me just,” his eyes rest on Leo’s beard, looking at it like it’s physically painful for him to do it “At least let me trim it a bit.”

Leo takes a moment to think it over, but in the end he does agree to this one. He supposes it will do him some good anyway.

Cristiano pulls away with a wide smile to admire his work once he’s done “Okay, now you look like part of the best attacking duo in the world.” he states. Leo supposes he should take it as a compliment “Let’s go.”

It’s different this time, when they train together. There are still a lot of misplaced passes, a bunch of exasperated sighs and one too many frustrated curses from Cristiano, but overall, they start feeling each other.

Cristiano’s style is very different from his own; he plays with more power, more force. However, Leo discovers, they both rely on their experience, instincts and natural feel of the game more than anything else, which makes things easier.

By the time the rest of the squad arrives, they’ve been practicing passes and assists for over two hours. At a certain point, Cesc comes over and calls them for joint training. Cristiano elbows him lightly and whispers “let’s show them what we got”.

Leo receives the pass from Isco. He gets past Andrés easily and sends the ball right through Ramos’ feet when the defender appears, earning a whistle from Dani and Marcelo. But then Geri is there, in front of him, blocking the way, and Leo makes a step back, meaning to send the ball back to Isco.

“Leo!”

He feels Cristiano moving to his right more than he sees him. Leo sends the ball in his direction, without even looking, blindly trusting the other to catch it, and quickly gets past Geri toward the goal.

He doesn’t even have to look, or say anything. The moment he’s close enough the ball lands in his feet and he directs it inside.

The sound of the football slipping past the goalie’s hands and hitting the back of the net is the most beautiful sound Leo’s heard in the past two days.

Isco throws his hands up and Dani and Marcelo cheer. Geri makes a face, complaining that putting him and Cristiano on the same team should be considered bullying.

Leo turns around, searching for Cristiano. Cristiano, who’s standing at the corner mark, arms spread wide, waiting for him. When Leo sprints toward him and jumps he catches him, arms wrapping around his torso securely to support his weight.

“We did it,” Leo wants to yell, but despite their large company it feels so private and intimate, he ends up whispering the words instead.

Cristiano laughs happily “We did.”

Ramos scoffs “Come on, we got it, get back into the game,” he says, hitting Cristiano’s shoulder playfully.

Cristiano lets out a mock-offended gasp “Andrés, Sergio is using physical violence,” he complains, turning to their captain “Shouldn’t that be a penalty?”

Ramos and Geri gape at them. Leo laughs.

The stadium is loud when they step into the pitch. Everybody is yelling, but the main voice of the fans can still be heard, singing the chant he and Cristiano memorised a few days prior to that.

_ “Olé olé maccabi, para siempre...” _

Leo can’t stop looking around, admiring the stadium. It’s not Camp Nou, but it’s utterly beautiful. He can see jerseys with the numbers 7 and 10 all over the stands, but for once, it isn’t a competition, it’s two parts of something complete.

“.. _.es real, la sensación que se siente! _ ”

Leo feels Cristiano’s hand on his shoulder.

“Ready?” the other forward mouths at him.

Leo nods “Always.”

They shake hands with the Hapoel players, and even though he and Cristiano prepared thoughtfully for the match, going over the entire squad several times, it’s still unbelievable to see it with his own eyes.

Neymar, Dybala, James, Coutinho, Pogba, Vidal, Thiago Silva, David Luiz - Leo can only nod along as they pass by him and wonder how many of them he knows personally in this world, who he’s played with, who’s on friendly terms with him and who’s an enemy.

They open the score seven minutes into the game. Cesc gets the ball from Isco and immediately passes it over to Leo, who sprints toward the rival goal.

He realises he won’t be able to do anything from this angle when he gets close to the penalty box. From the corner of his eye, he can see Cristiano catching up to him, so he sends the ball to his right. Cristiano catches it easily, without even having to stop in order to do so, and runs forward. He makes a movement to his left, but jerks back in the last second when the defender follows his motion.

He’s so close - the goalkeeper is just in front of him, but Leo is sure he’ll score. He holds his breath, but instead of shooting Cristiano stops suddenly and sends the ball back, without looking, confusing the defence completely.

Leo realises the assist is meant for him.

He surges forward, just in time to send the ball inside the net.

The stadium erupts into cheers. Cristiano yells something at him, and Leo resists the urge to yell back. He sprints in his direction and jumps into Cristiano’s arms.

The fans are loud, but Cristiano’s voice is louder, whispering “You’re amazing,” in Leo’s ear.

The rest of their teammates join them, piling up on them one after another, and in a matter of seconds Leo finds himself lying on the grass, half on top of Cristiano. The sensation surging through his veins is quite possibly the closest things to perfect Leo’s ever felt. He doesn’t want it to end, ever.

But the seconds keep ticking by and soon Cristiano pulls himself up to his feet, offering Leo a hand. Leo smiles and takes it.

The second goal is Cristiano’s.

Geri intercepts a pass in the penalty box and sends it to Marcelo, who catches it and kicks it all the way over to the other side of the pitch. Leo gets to it before any of the rival players do, sprinting toward the goal.

He realises he won’t get past the defence and sends the ball back into the midfield with the back of his heel. It’s none other than Cristiano who catches it. Leo can’t really believe his eyes at first when Cristiano’s shot goes all the way through and ends up inside, despite the enormous distance.

The stadium is roaring.

Cristiano raises his arms, pointing at himself with a fearlessly bold expression on his face, a dangerous glimmer in his eyes screaming  _ look at me _ .

Then his eye catches Leo. He flashes him a smile and the direction of his hands switches, now pointing at Leo.

_ Look at us _ .

Their rivals don’t make them wait too long, responding with energy and eagerness.

By the end of the second half there’s a tense tie - 3:3, with goals from Neymar, James, Dybala, Cristiano and two from Leo. The tension in the stadium is so palpable it could be sliced with a knife.

It feels like everyone is holding their breath when Maccabi get a free-kick in the very last minute of additional time.

Cristiano drops the ball into Leo’s hands. “You got it,” he whispers to him, mouth hidden by his hand “It’s a hattrick.”

Leo turns the ball over in his hands, feelings its weight. He scans the distance between them and the net. It’s not an easy angle, but Cristiano is right, it could as well be a hattrick, Leo could definitely score it if he tried. They both could, actually.

Leo’s eyes go over to rest on Cristiano. The other forward is focused on the pitch. “No,” he says suddenly and Cristiano’s eyes snap to look at him “You take it.”

Cristiano blinks at him like Leo’s gone crazy “You could get a hattrick,” he repeats meaningfully “a hattrick, Leo.”

“Or,” Leo insists “we could score a brace each.” he raises an eyebrow “Think about it.”

Cristiano’s eye twitches. He wets his lips, thinking it over. The conflicting thoughts rubbing against each other in his head are visible on his face. Cristiano opens his mouth and Leo gets ready to tell him that he insists, but what comes out of the other’s mouth is not a protest.

“Okay,” he says quickly, and Leo almost wants to laugh at the absolute lack of guilt in his voice “But it’s your own fault, I offered.”

Leo can’t keep the amused smirk off his face. Playing with Cristiano is so different from playing with Luis or with Ney. He doesn’t need to be offered twice. It’s an interesting contrast.

Cristiano reaches to take the ball from Leo but pulls his hand away at the last moment “Actually,” he adds “Let them think you’re gonna take it.”

Leo gives him an understanding nod “Got it.”

Leo places the ball on the line marked by the referee and takes a few steps back, preparing to take the shot. Well, sort of.

He jerks, but moves away immediately, and Cristiano, who’s standing next to him, surges toward the ball and sends it in the direction of the goal.

They’re up 4-3.

_ “...Ronaldo and Messi out there again, proving the impossible to be possible!..” _

The stadium is deafening as they celebrate their well-deserved victory.

_ “...it’s unbelievable, but these two always make the most difficult look so easy!..” _

Leo doesn’t think he’s ever seen anything as bright and full of happiness as Cristiano’s smile when he approaches him after that.

“Guess who’s the best?”

Leo lifts a brow, the corner of his mouth quirking up “You?” he guesses.

Cristiano’s mouth opens, then closes “Well.. That too,” he drawls lowly, too tempted to not agree “But most importantly,” he adds cheerfully “it’s us.” he throws an arm around Leo’s shoulder and pulls him closer “We’re the best.”

It makes sense, when he says it like that.

“Leo!”

Leo turns around, smiling when he sees who it is. “Paulo..!”

Dybala grins at him. He looks rather optimistic for someone who just lost a match “Good game,” he says sincerely, giving Leo’s shoulder a friendly squeeze “you and Ronaldo, both of you.”

Leo smiles thankfully “You too,” he responds “Your goal was beautiful. The three of you work really well together, you know?” it’s nothing but the truth - even Cristiano Unimpressible Ronaldo himself noted how good the trio was.

Dybala lets out a soft laugh “Eh, we’re doing our best.” he looks like he wants to say something more, but Silva calls his name and he gives Leo a sheepish smile instead “Gotta go,” he apologises “See you next month with the Selección, right?”

Leo isn’t sure about the fixture, but nods along nonetheless “Yeah, of course.”

The younger player gives him a wave and then starts jogging away to join his team. Leo watches him for a second longer and then continues walking to the tunnel. It’s then that he notices him.

“Ney!” Neymar looks around, trying to find the source of the voice, until his eyes finally land on Leo “Ney,” Leo’s smile widens “Congrats on the goal, it was-” Leo feels himself recoil when he the other looks at him. Leo trails off, staring at Neymar, eyes wide.

Neymar has  _ that  _ look on his face. There’s excitement, there’s admiration - some nervousness. But there’s no recognition. He doesn’t look like he knows him.

“Yes?” he asks half tentatively, half hopefully.

Leo blinks. Right, he was going to congratulate him on the goal. But now Leo doesn’t seem to be able to muster up any strength to properly do that “I.. Your goal was good.” he says, trying to pull up a smile.

Neymar’s entire face lights up “Thanks!” he exclaims happily “Your goals were fantastic too, you’re amazing.” he holds his hands behind his back and rocks back and forth on his heels a bit, clearly waiting for Leo to say something to that.

Leo doesn’t manage anything more than a weak “Thanks.”

Neymar’s face falls. He covers it up with a smile quickly “Okay, I’ll go join the others,” he tells him “Congrats on the win.” he turns around and marches into the tunnel quickly. Leo lets out a shaky breath.

“You can’t have everything, huh?” Cristiano’s voice snaps Leo out of his haze.

“Yeah,” he exhales slowly. Cristiano is right, it was stupid of him to expect anything different.

Cristiano places a hand on his head “I saw James,” he says, tone slightly bitter “Tried complimenting him on his goal and he jumped and looked at me like _ that, _ ” he clicks his tongue and then lets out a dry laugh “God, I haven’t seen that look in ages.”

Leo sighs and clears his throat. “Well,” he glances up at Cristiano “You can’t have everything, can you?”

Cristiano looks thoughtful for a moment but then there’s a cocky smile on his lips “You have me, though, don’t you?”

Leo shakes his head, chuckling fondly “Lucky me.”

Cristiano smirks. “Well,” he places a hand on Leo’s back, giving him a small push in the direction of the tunnel “Let’s go, lucky you.”

“I  _ love  _ you!”

Leo turns around to look at the owner of the voice, pulling the towel off his head. Before he can register what’s going on, Ramos sandwiches his face between his hands and presses a kiss to his cheek.

“You’re fucking amazing!” The defender releases Leo’s face and wraps an arm around him instead, his other hand going to ruffle his hair. He’s just like Geri, Leo thinks, just even more energetic, if that’s even possible.

Dani laughs aloud at the face Leo pulls “Be careful to not strangle him, Sergio.”

Cristiano enters the dressing room, hair falling wildly over his forehead after the shower “What about me?” he asks jokingly, giving Ramos a small pout.

“Oi, you too, come here!” Cristiano’s face immediately twists with regret when Geri catches him in a headlock, rubbing his knuckles against his head “That free-kick was something!”

“Don’t feed his ego even more, Geri,” Ramos laughs, finally releasing Leo, who lets out a sigh of relief “he doesn’t need that!”

They start bickering about something and Cristiano uses the moment to get away from Geri’s hold, walking over to stand beside Leo “Good god..” he mutters, rubbing the top of his head “I forgot how annoying he is.”

Leo hums, watching Geri and Ramos argue about something passionately “That’s..” he pauses, trying to pick the right word. There doesn’t seem to be any.

“Nice,” Cristiano offers “but disturbing.”

Leo breathes out a laugh “Exactly.” he agrees. Then he glances at Cristiano, lips quirking up in a small smile “This is slowly becoming our motto, isn’t it?”

Cristiano’s mouth twists “Now that you said it..” his eyes travel back to the two defenders. Leo does the same thing.

A yawn pushes past his lips suddenly and Leo raises a hand to cover his mouth. He wants to lean against Cristiano on instinct, but realises the other is still shirtless and wet after the shower.

“Um,” Leo’s brows knit together in a judgmental expression “You should probably put something on.” he says pointedly.

“Why,” Cristiano looks down at his chest, flexing the muscles “Aren’t you enjoying the view?”

“Eeh,” Leo bites his lip, scowling.

Cristiano laughs at his expression but opens his locker door nonetheless, pulling out a dry shirt “I should charge people for looking at me when I’m shirtless,” he says casually “hundred Euros per minute.”

Leo chokes back a laugh “That’s... Disturbing.” he says “Without the ‘nice’ part.”

“Don’t worry,” Cristiano waggles his eyebrows at him playfully “You’ll get a discount.”

By the time they finally leave the dressing room and reach the parking lot, Leo is barely keeping himself on his feet. He just wants to collapse on his bed and sleep for twenty four hours straight. Cristiano is not much better off, but he still finds the energy to poke Leo’s cheek whenever he closes his eyes for a bit too long.

Cesc, upon seeing the condition they’re in, takes pity on them and offers to give them both a lift (“I live close to the neighbourhood anyway,”).

“Apparently,” Cristiano mumbles tiredly under his breath as he and Leo get into the back of Cesc’s car “Being the best is twice as tiring when there’s two of you.”

Cesc snorts and Leo can see an amused glimmer in his eyes through the rear mirror.

Leo falls asleep on Cristiano’s shoulder on their way home.

Argentina and Portugal see each other the next month, fifteen days after the game against Hapoel.

Paulo scores the first goal, immediately disappearing under a pile of their happy teammates before he even has a chance to perform his mask celebration. In the second half Leo assists Argentina’s second goal, scored by Kun, who catches Leo as soon as he jumps on him to celebrate. The third, and final, goal is scored by Cristiano.

“Wanna hang out around the place after this?”

Leo looks up, somehow not surprised to find Cristiano approaching him. Leo lifts an eyebrow “I thought you don’t do socialisation after losses?” he asks teasingly.

“Eh,” Cristiano pushes one of his shoulders up in a shrug “I didn’t lose,” he gives Leo a lopsided grin “I scored, you didn’t.”

“Oh?” the corner of Leo’s mouth twists in amusement “Well, I assisted.” he points out. If Cristiano wants to play these games, so be it “And crossed the ball for the first attack.”

“Nah,” Cristiano wags his head in a childish manner “Can’t compare. It’s not the same thing.”

Leo huffs out a laugh. He wants to pretend to be annoyed, but can’t manage to pull the emotion off. He isn’t, not really. The fact that they’re able to joke about these things with such easiness is by itself already a proof of how far they’ve come in these couple of weeks. It’s actually relieving, in a way.

“So,” Cristiano tilts his head to the side “Wanna hang out?”

Leo looks at him. “Yeah. Yeah, of course.”

“I was thinking..”

Leo hums in acknowledgement, flipping through the magazine in his hands. He isn’t actually reading it, Cristiano might as well talk.

“So, I was thinking,” he says again, emphasizing the words “You know how every cool football trident has an abbreviated name? MSN, BBC and so on..”

Leo stumbles across an article about Hapoel’s latest match against Espanyol. Neymar is on the cover, seemingly performing a chilena. Leo folds the corner of the page, he’ll get back to it later.

“So,” Cristiano carries on “won’t our name be like, our initials? R and M?”

Leo’s eyes fall on a gardening commercial. He has no idea what gardening has to do with football. Then he realises Zlatan is in there. Fair enough, he figures.

“Yeah,” he replies, before Cristiano has the time to accuse him of not listening “So what’s with it? RM sounds good to me.”

Cristiano falls silent. Leo keeps going through the pages.

“Leo,”

“What?”

Cristiano rolls over, pulling the magazine down so Leo’s forced to look at his face “Don’t you see anything wrong with the name RM?”

Leo pauses. Is there some kind of joke he’s missing out? “No? It sounds okay to me?”

Cristiano watches him carefully “Leo,” he speaks up slowly “Do you know what else is usually abbreviated as RM?”

Leo takes a moment to think. He tries to recall any other duos with the same name, but there’s none. Cristiano raises his eyebrows meaningfully. And then it hits Leo.

“No!” he exclaims in horror, raising a hand to cover his mouth.

Cristiano grins widely “Yes!”

“No!” Leo repeats. He picks up the magazine, rolling it into a tube and hits Cristiano’s shoulder with it “Our name can’t be the same as Real Madrid’s, forget about it.”

Cristiano ducks his head, getting away from Leo’s fury when he attempts to hit him with the magazine again.

“And anyway,” Leo adds, trying to fake irritation “Our name should be MR, my letter comes before yours in the alphabet anyway.”

“That’s not how it works.” Cristiano pushes against his elbows, sitting up “But hey, don’t all names have some meanings behind them? BBC is a news program, MSN is some Microsoft thing,” he rolls his eyes to the ceiling, searching for ideas “We could be CL. MC? No. How about RL?” Cristiano freezes suddenly. He looks shocked for a second before a satisfied smirk takes over his lips “Leo..”

Leo shoots him a dirty look. He doesn’t like that. “What?”

“Aren’t you like,” Cristiano makes a vague gesture with his hand “part Italian?” Leo can’t see what that has to do with anything but he nods anyway “Your other name.. What was it? Cucini? Cuticini? Zucchini?”

Leo gives him a look. He doesn’t even want to know how Cristiano knows that kind of information “Cuccittini,” he corrects him “But anyway, what’s with it?”

“Well?” Cristiano is grinning at him, like there is an important realisation that Leo has yet to understand “Cuccittini,” he repeats “Cuccittini and Ronaldo. CR.”

Leo gapes at him. “Get lost!” he exclaims the moment he gets his voice back.

Cristiano is laughing “Come on, it’s good! Just think about it, CR17!” he puts the fingers of his hands together in the air, forming a picture frame “That would make a great brand name.”

Leo grabs the rolled magazine, threatening to hit him again, but Cristiano is faster, dodging the attack with his forearm.

“Your ideas suck.” Leo states firmly, looking away.

“Then why are you smiling?” Cristiano asks him playfully.

“I’m not.”

The other moves closer to poke his cheek “You totally are.”

Okay, maybe he is, Leo thinks, feelings his smile grow wider.

-

“I talked to Andrés about the tactics for tomorrow’s game. They have Conte - you know, Antonio and all of his rotations. So we shouldn’t be preparing only for the obvious line-up, we can’t know who we’ll be playing until the official names are posted. I thought we could- Leo?” Cristiano frowns, eyes snapping up to the rear window. The moment Leo notices his eyes on him he jerks awake, pulling his hand away from his forehead.

“Yes?” he asks innocently.

Cristiano squints at him, but he’s forced to break away the eye contact immediately after that in order to focus on the road. “You’ve been doin that all day.”

Leo acts oblivious “Doing what?”

“You know what I mean,” Cristiano says in irritation “nodding off, touching your head when you think I’m not looking..” Leo gives up the act, smiling sheepishly at Cristiano. He looks kind of tired. Cristiano’s frown fades, turning into a softer expression “You feeling alright?”

“Yeah, I’m just..” Leo sighs “My head’s just been kinda hurting ever since the morning.. It's nothing, though,” he hurries to assure him “It'll pass.”

Cristiano clicks his tongue “You should’ve said something.” he might not be the right example himself, but covering it up is really not the best way to deal with such problems “Although it’s weird, I’ve had the same thing since yesterday evening.” he realises the slip only when it’s already past his lips.

Leo shoots him a glare “How mature and completely unbiased,” he growls.

Cristiano gives in “Alright, alright.. How about we both drop by the medical team before training and do a proper check up?”

Leo nods and leans back into his seat. It’s a deal then.

It’s really not the way he expected things to go.

“You’re both not from here, are you?” the nurse asks them.

Cristiano blinks. He can feel the confusion radiating off Leo just beside him “What do you mean, not from here?” somehow, he has a feelings she isn't asking them about Portugal and Argentina.

“You’re not from, well, this world,” she clarifies. When she notices the panicked expressions on their faces she hurries to add “It happens, in some worlds more than in others, but it does.” she stands up, walking over to her desk “Sometimes there are glitches and falls through the universes happen. There aren’t really any ways to prevent it,” she picks up a thick folder, flipping through the pages carefully “but luckily for you it’s very easy to fix it. You should’ve come to someone with this straight away.”

Cristiano exchanges glances with Leo. There's a lot of thoughts spinning around in his head. They’ve been breaking their heads over this so much the first couple of days - although in the end they just decided to give up and place things in the hands of fate, or whatever it was - they could have never even imagined that it could be so simple. The nurse was talking about it so casually, like it happened all the time. But now that they finally had it figured out.. Cristiano isn’t so sure he wants to go back.

“How much time are you like this already?”

“Uhh,” her words snap him out of his mind wandering. He turns to look at Leo, but the other seems to be deep in thoughts, eyes unfocused, so he answers instead “Not that much, actually. A bit over a month or so.”

The nurse nods. She finally finds whatever she was looking for, pulling the document out of the folder and placing it on the table “That probably makes it a bit over twenty four hours in your world,” she picks up a pen and scribbles something down on the paper “Your other bodies are probably in coma right now.”

“What?” Cristiano can feel Leo jerk beside him, looking at the nurse “What- What do you mean?”

“Don’t worry,” she looks up from the document to give them both a reassuring smile and goes back to writing something there “It’s a natural self defence mechanism. Everything will go back to normal as soon as you’re back.” she looks up and asks suddenly “Cristiano Ronaldo and Lionel Messi, right?” seeing their confused reaction, she clarifies “Your names. I need to fill in the form.”

“Ah,” Leo blinks. He looks over at Cristiano, as if to confirm that his name really is Lionel Messi. It would’ve been funny, under different circumstances.

“Yeah,” Cristiano nods slowly “Right.”

She writes a couple of sentences down, checks something on her computer and then picks up the two documents and walks over to them, handing them a paper each. “We can’t take care of this kind of things right here, but all you need to do is take these to the nearest hospital and hand it to one of the nurses there, they’ll know what to do.” she gives them a professional smile “It’s a matter of minutes, really.”

“Do you think we could just throw these forms away and act like everything’s just as it’s supposed to be?”

It’s the first thing Leo’s said ever since they exited the room. Cristiano sighs, tightening his hold on the steering wheel. “You miss Barça, don’t you?” even Cristiano has to admit that he misses Madrid, and his connection with the club is not nearly as long and deep as Leo’s is with Barcelona.

Leo rests his chin against his fist, staring outside the window. “I do..” he admits quietly “I also kind of miss you too.”

Cristiano’s brows knit together in puzzlement “What do you mean?” he asks, eyes flickering over to the rear window for a split second to look at Leo.

“This,” Leo waves a hand between them “is great, don’t get me wrong. But I do miss what we used to have.” he turns to look at him finally and Cristiano feels a hand being placed on his forearm gently “I miss being your rival.”

Cristiano feels a smile tugging at his lips “I know.” and then, quieter “Me too.”

At least they’ll always have this, the knowledge that somewhere, in a different world, they play together. That they create counter attacks and celebrate their goals wearing the same colours; that Cristiano calls Leo to send him to sleep when he sees the lights in his house being on out of his window; that nobody tries to compare their statistics every day of the year because there’s no need to do it - they’re one single team.

So it’s not in their world. He can live with that.

They’re sitting outside of the medical room; the doctor glanced at their files, gave them a brief explanation about the procedure and told them to wait outside while they’re preparing the equipment. Leo is strangely quiet, fiddling with the hem of his t-shirt. Cristiano kind of wants to scream, but he hasn’t decided yet if it’s from excitement or frustration.

The door opens and one of the doctor’s assistants peek outside, eyes scanning the waiting room. It’s empty anyway, except for the two of them. “Lionel Messi?”

Leo gives him a nod. “I’m coming.” the man tells him to take his time and disappears behind the door again.

Leo stands up, straightening out the wrinkles formed on his shorts.

“Well,” he folds his hands behind his back, looking at Cristiano. “See you soon I guess?”

Cristiano nods along “Yeah..”

Leo’s eyes flicker with something intense. He looks like he wants to say something more, but in the end he just gives Cristiano a small wave and heads toward the door. It doesn’t sit well with him, it’s not a proper good-bye.

Before Cristiano can change his mind, he jumps up and catches up to him, placing a hand on Leo’s forearm to stop him. “Wait!”

Leo turns around. His eyes study Cristiano’s face, boring into him. All of a sudden, Cristiano feels almost self-conscious under this gaze.

“I..” he bites his lips. But then Leo’s gaze softens and he feels the determination rushing through him once again “Don’t forget this,” he says fiercely, hand sliding down Leo’s arm to his fingers “Okay?”

Leo smiles “Okay.”

It’s a promise.

-

Leo wakes up slowly, eyelids fluttering open. A bright light hits his face and he wrinkles his nose, raising a hand to shelter his eyes from the sharp light. His hand doesn’t get too far, stopped by a small tube connected to it. Leo stares. Oh, right, he’s in a hospital.

As if on cue, the door opens and a doctor walks in. It’s not the same man he talked to just a few minutes ago, he looks different. Actually, everything feels different.

“Good, you’re awake.” the man gives him a smile. “No, no, stay down,” he hurries to add when Leo struggles to sit up “We need to go a couple of checkups before.”

Leo lies back down. “Okay.” his voice sounds strange, hoarse, like he hasn’t used it in a while.

The doctor gives him a knowing smile “Let’s see how you’re doing.”

They ask Leo a few questions - does anything hurt, is anything off, what’s the last thing he remembers. He tells them about El Clásico, about jumping up to score a header, about colliding with one of the Madrid players, but he keeps quiet about everything that happened after that. He doesn’t tell them that he found himself in a different world, getting the chance to experience what he’s wondered about so many times. He doesn’t tell them about Cristiano.

Cristiano.

“Where is he?” Leo blinks up at one of the nurses. They’re doing physical checkups now, checking his pulse, his blood flow, examining his breathing. “The other player, I mean. Is he here too?”

The nurse nods, not tearing his eyes away from the monitor “Yes, he woke up just a few minutes after you. Don’t worry,” he adds “He’s fine.”

Leo hums. At least there’s this.

“Now, I need to tell you one more thing and then you can rest.”

Leo’s eyes go up to find the doctor. He nods, signaling the other to keep going “What is it?”

The doctor pulls a chair close to Leo’s bed and sits down. “You’ve been out for a while, a bit over twenty four hours,” he begins “In the first few hours we injected certain painkilling drugs into your body to ease the pain.”

Leo nods. It’s not something unusual, it happens frequently when the injury is serious. He knows how the process goes. “I need to wait a week for the drug to be completely gone before I can play officially, right?” he guesses.

“Exactly,” The doctor nods in confirmation “That’s a first,” he raises an eyebrow meaningfully “The thing is, this painkiller is very strong, it has some side-effects, especially in an unconscious state. It might cause hallucinations and very vivid dreams.”

Leo feels his heart sink. The doctor keeps talking about the possible consequences, but Leo finds it difficult to focus on his words. It’s hard to acknowledge the fact that something he’s gotten so used to, something he’s grown to love so much was just a product of his unconscious imagination.

“There were many cases in which people woke up claiming that they saw certain things. In the worst cases, the belief in the reality of it drives people crazy.” the man places a hand on Leo’s knee “Don’t let it get to you, okay? These are just fantasies.”

Leo looks up to meet his eyes. It’s a bit hard to breathe properly all of a sudden, like something heavy is lying on his chest. “Okay. Thank you.”

With the medics’ permission, he calls Luis and Geri. He tells them that the visiting hours are closed by now, and, according to the doctor’s words, he needs rest, but they can come tomorrow.

Geri screams in delight at first, then wails about how much he missed him and how scared they all were, then curses at Luis when the other takes the phone away from him (“you’re gonna put the entire hospital into comma with those noises,”).

Leo buys himself a sandwich in the cafeteria and walks around the building aimlessly. He just needs to find a way to spend his time until tomorrow.

A nurse catches him slacking around, glares at him and tells him that if he’s feeling so lively he should go outside into the hospital’s garden. Leo does.

He takes a deep breath when he’s outside, inhaling the fresh air. He tucks his hands in the pockets of his hospital gown and looks around. He freezes, spotting a familiar figure just a few meters away from him. Leo’s heart clenches.

Cristiano is sitting behind a small coffee table, a book in his hands. He doesn’t look like he’s actually reading it, lazily flipping through the pages. Leo’s starring must be very loud, because he puts the book down and looks up suddenly.

There’s a strange glimmer behind his eyes, but then it’s gone. He’s wearing an indifferent expression. There’s no recognition in there and Leo feels his face fall.

But just running away would be rude, so he walks over and offers him a small smile. “Hi,” he croaks shyly.

“Hi yourself,” Cristiano waves a hand at the chair next to him, inviting Leo to sit down “Feelings better?”

Leo shrugs, then nods “Maybe.”

Cristiano watches him in amusement. Leo realises it’s probably not a very coherent answer.

“It’s funny, isn’t it,” he says, resting his chin against his crossed arms on the table “How this kind of stuff always happens to us.”

Cristiano is studying his expression carefully. Leo can’t read him at all. “Well, I mean,” he lifts his brows and tilts his head to the side with a small shrug “It’s kind of nice,”

Leo freezes. He turns to look at Cristiano, heart beating rapidly “Nice but..?” he prompts.

“Nice but disturbing.”

Leo’s heart misses a beat. Cristiano watches him with expressionless features for a second before letting his lips spread in a smirk. Leo feels a happy laugh bubbling up in his stomach. There’s a strange prickling at the corners of his eyes.

“You fucking asshole,” he exclaims, burying his face in his hands as Cristiano throws his head back and laughs “I thought-”

“They told me the same thing, yeah,” Cristiano says, still laughing “I got scared there for a moment.” his eyes are still crackling but his voice is serious as he says it.

Leo looks at him. There’s a lopsided smile on his face.

“Come here,” Cristiano says, opening his arms for a hug. Leo accepts it.

“Do you think there’s any paparazzi in here?” Cristiano asks, letting Leo rest his chain on his shoulder.

Leo smiles at the thought “They would have a field day.”

“Hey,” Cristiano says as he pulls away “I was thinking,” he pulls his phone out of his pocket, typing something into the search bar “Marcelo told me about some charity match in Brazil this summer. Unicef are organising it to raise money for charity and any professional footballers are free to join.” he looks up, a playful glimmer in his eyes. Leo already knows where this is going.

“You think the world is ready?”

Cristiano smirks. He’s enjoying it way too much, Leo thinks, but he isn’t much better off himself. “Let’s find out.”

-

“Leo,” Cristiano muses, walking over to the head of the lineup. Leo’s wearing a bright blue jersey with Unicef’s logo on it, the same one Cristiano got when he arrived to the stadium.

Leo’s face lights up when he sees it’s him. “Cris,” he steps closer, letting Cristiano pull him in to place a kiss on his cheek.

The match has yet to start, but it’s already possible to hear the restless crowd in the stadium. There are thousands over thousands of fans filling the stands who came to see them play together - another record they broke without even trying.

“Well, this is going to be interesting.” Leo murmurs, probably thinking about the same thing Cristiano is.

Cristiano can do nothing about the satisfied smirk creeping upon his face “Yeah, huh?” he can feel the other players’ eyes on them. There’s that tense expectation in the air, but for once, it doesn’t feel like a burden, because they’re sharing it together.

Cristiano moves to stand by Leo’s side when the referee gestures for them to walk onto the pitch. He raises a fist up in the air between them.

“Let’s show the world class,”

Leo raises a fist as well, connecting it with Cristiano's.

“Let’s do it.”

**Author's Note:**

> please leave comments if you love cressi/to keep me alive and give me the strength to study algebra


End file.
